Mother's Son
by ardavenport
Summary: Ben observes young Luke on a visit to Anchorhead and notices the differences between him and his father.


**MOTHER'S SON**

by ardavenport

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"Hey, Luke! Give the rest of us a chance!"

"Yeah, stop hogging the balls!"

With blond hair and wearing desert clothes like his father had once worn, little Luke Skywalker hesitated, his sure stance opposite the other younglings gone. He held the big white plastoid paddle a little less certainly.

The game seemed to be simple from what Ben Kenobi could see from his spot in the shade outside Anchorhead's general stores shop. On one side of the field of play, a group of younglings would throw soft homemade balls at the one on the other side who had a big white plastoid paddle to hit them back with. If the one with the paddle hit any of the others with a returning ball they got a point. If any of the ones throwing the balls hit the one with the paddle, they got their turn with it.

The problem now seemed to be that nine year-old Luke Skywalker was able to simultaneously dodge all the balls thrown at him while hitting back at his opponents and the other younglings were starting to complain about not getting their turn with the paddle. In the next volley, Luke got hit in the leg and a skinny girl, taller than him, with short, sun-bleached blonde hair grabbed the paddle and hefted it high over her shoulder. Luke quickly scurried about, grabbing all the balls lying in the sand by the wall behind the girl and tossing them back while the others yelled at him to hurry up.

A sad smile touched Kenobi's lips.

Anakin Skywalker _never_ would have done that. Deliberately lose the game to fit in with the others. It was his mother's influence in the boy. And while he might not be in a position to win a pod race or a space battle as his father had at the same age, Luke still clearly had similar latent Jedi abilities.

His father's influence in the boy.

And Luke's options for pod races or space battles were limited by his uncle who would forbid any such things for his step-mother's grandson, not by a lack of ability to succeed. Kenobi sighed. In these dark times, that was just as well.

He tugged his hood forward. His shade was disappearing as the twin suns climbed higher in the sky. The younglings continued their improvised game on the pale, parched, hard-packed ground while their parents and guardians did their business in the little settlement.

Gritty footsteps approached. Kenobi glanced toward Owen Lars, in his own long desert robe. Luke's guardian and step-uncle gave him a critical glare before his eyes flicked toward the game.

"Looking at anything, old man?" he challenged.

Lars did not care for him watching the game. Watching Luke. But the moisture farmer was only being sensible. If the Empire ever even suspected who Ben Kenobi really was . . . who Luke was. . . . nobody in the whole settlement would be safe. The Empire would burn and destroy everything to get at the fugitive Jedi Knight. Kill anyone associated with him. And even Lars did not know how badly the Emperor would want the son of Anakin Skywalker, the progeny of his now fallen apprentice.

Kenobi accepted that he must remain apart from and disdained by Luke's family to keep his secret origins safe. But the 'old man' reference seemed a bit insulting. His hair was more gray than brown now, but he was not that much older than Lars.

Sighing, Kenobi turned his own gaze back to the game in the dusty lane. The girl had been hit by a boy with dark curly hair and wearing brown pants and a loose tan tunic. Luke had just pranced with the other children as if he was angling for a good shot with a ball in his raised hand.

"I am at the mercy of Nyla Shaah's moods just as much as everyone else here."

Lars's glare went to the shop just behind them. Everyone knew that the proprietor had gotten a new shipment, foodstuffs, machine and droid parts, power cells, condensers and all the other scraps sent out to the subsistence farm communities that made life in the desert possible. But she was a miserly old woman with an inflated sense of importance. Kenobi had handed her his minimal list. She zipped it into her computer and told him to wait with the others. She would get to it when she finished her other tasks.

Among the younglings, the dark-haired boy had been hit fairly quickly. Now a determined-looking girl with a ragged scarf tied over her brown hair challenged the others with the paddle. She whacked the ball back and hit someone's leg with it. Luke threw a ball and it went high and to her left. He was not even trying, though he did seem to be enjoying the game with his friends.

"That miserable old hag," Lars grumbled. "I suppose . . . maybe someone might be able convince her to get on with her business. We could all get out of here sooner."

Kenobi slowly turned his blue-gray eyes toward Owen Lars, daring him to say what it sounded like he was asking. Lars did not back down, or look away, except for a quick darting glance toward the shop entrance. Kenobi considered it. There was no one else around.

Pushing the hood of his robe back, Kenobi went into the shadows and relative cool of the crowded shop, Lars close behind.

Shaah looked up from her screen, her face puckered in annoyance.

"You'll have to wait outside," she snapped crossly. "I can't have you people filling this place up while I'm trying to work. Your orders will be done when they're done. Harassing me won't make it go any faster. I've got to make sure there's enough for everybody, you know. I can't just give one person all the T-4 power-packs and not have any left for – "

"Of course not," Kenobi smoothly interjected with a raised hand, "that is why if you fill my order and," he gestured behind him, "the one for the Lars farm, things will go so much smoother for you and it will all work out perfectly for you and everyone else."

Shaah's features went slack-jawed, her thoughts easily led by the faintest touch of the Force.

"And there will be quite a lot of profit for you as well. If you fulfill these orders quickly," he added to spur her to action.

Shaah snapped out of her daze and called out to her droid. After impatiently directing it to get the heavier crates from the back, she jumped up and started pulling things from the shelves. Watching the sudden burst of activity, Owen Lars looked a bit shocked and perhaps now regretted his unspoken request. Kenobi ignored him and held up a hand to the shopkeeper.

"Aah."

Grasping a dusty can of biscuits, Shaah turned her head back to him.

"The newer one would be better."

Her hand put the older can back and picked up one that had come in with the new shipment. Kenobi shrugged out of his pack, put it on the shop counter and started filling the big empty space with sacks and cans. he had already given her payment, which she always demanded first. Lars warily stood back from his growing pile of goods. Very soon, Kenobi's pack was full and the shop droids were leading a lifter of crates to Lars's speeder.

One more time, Ben raised his hand to Shaah. "Of course, you wish to offer your customers a cool cup of water before sending them on their way."

Her eyes distracted, she nodded. "Of course." She scurried to the back room and returned with two small metal cups.

"Thank-you." Kenobi accepted his graciously. It was flat and metallic, like all the water on this world, but cool and refreshing. Wide-eyed, Lars stared at Shaah, who reputedly wouldn't give a customer a free cup of spit without charging them double. He downed his with no comment. They left together.

"Luke! We're leaving!" Lars called out as Kenobi shouldered his pack for the long trek back across the desert to his hermitage.

A Human could never make the trip on foot, but the Jedi had the Force. His journeys through the desert had become long meditations for the former Jedi Council member where sometime he heard the voice of his old Master, counseling him about what was to come and what he needed to do to prepare. And sometimes the Force only spoke with the winds of his own memory.

"Luuuke!"

This time, the boy obeyed, running up to his uncle with a repentant expression. A flicker of vision from the Force passed by Kenobi's eyes of a young Anakin, having trouble adjusting to the strict discipline of Jedi life, his expression angling for a way around the rules.

Blue eyes innocent of any schemes, Luke looked up at him curiously.

"You play your game very well, young Luke," he said before Lars could object.

Luke glanced back toward where the others still played and then back up at Kenobi.

"Come on, Luke." Lars brusquely cut off any reply his step-nephew might have said to the old hermit. But Luke kept looking back as his uncle hurried him toward the speeder.

Kenobi turned away. He did not need to be with Luke and his family to protect them. With nothing but time to meditate, his senses in the Force extended over the Tatooine desert. If any danger came to the Lars farmstead, he would know. And sometimes his thoughts reached far, far across space to Master Yoda's own world of exile through Master Qui-Gon's spectral connection.

Walking away, his back to them, he heard Lars bark an order for Luke to get into the speeder. Luke loudly asked if 'Old Ben' was really going to walk across the desert and shouldn't they give him a ride. Kenobi smiled sadly to himself; he could imagine Anakin's young voice asking the same thing.

Lars gruffly replied.

"No. He doesn't need our help. He's a wizard. Now strap in."

The laden speeder slowly passed him in the lane between the pale stone dome buildings. Luke's apologetic blue eyes looked up at him. He gave the boy a reassuring smile and a wave as they sped away.

He would be fine.

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**O=OO= END =OO=O**

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**Disclaimer: **This story first posted in more abbreviate form on the tf.n temp boards on 23-Mar-2012 (and will be posted on the new boards whenever those happen). All characters and the Star Wars universe belong to George and Lucasfilm; I am just playing in their sandbox.


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